I think it's safe to say that Sweden has taken Iceland's place as the #1 source for hot import bands. Personally, I'm damn fascinated with this new wave of Scandinavian garage-punk, seeing as the pale and friendly Swedes have always projected an image fairly lacking in angst and attitude. But these days, thanks to The Hives, The Hellacopters, and Soundtrack of Our Lives, snow and skiing have bumped from my stereotype file on the northern European country and replaced with a mental picture of a place where Nuggets is assigned listening for schoolchildren and the poet laureate is Howard DeVoto. Book me a flight to Stockholm!

Fortunately, I'm friends with an actual, genuine Swedish guy, granting me the journalistic edge on the kind of Sweden profiles that have been popping up everywhere lately. So now, in a Pitchførk Exklusiv, I can disclose the true secret ingredient of the Swedish Invasion's allure. Playing me a 1970s #1 Swedish hit with lyrics that pay tribute to the 1960s Beatles over music that sounds distinctly 1950s, my source sums it up succinctly, "Swedish music has always been about twenty years behind the rest of the world." And there it is, the reason why some might find The Hives more authentic throwbacks than American wayback White Strokes acts-- for Swedish musicians, the new wave really is still new, not the retro fad of Western culture.

Which brings us to the Sahara Hotnights, the next Swedish band with a turn of the 80s look/sound to jump from Stockholm to stardom. Rocking a distinctly Joan Jett vibe, the all-girl foursome can't avoid the "female Hives" comparison, a typecasting made worse by frontlady Maria Andersson's relationship with Hives ringleader Pelle Almqvist. Following the same reissue-of-old-import-material plan as their dates to the rock prom, Jennie Bomb finds the Hotnights hoping to avoid a sophomore slump for their homeland, thus proving that Sweden is more Manchester than Halifax.

Judging by the album, early signs are pretty good for the scene's longevity, if not entirely conclusive. While reports that Sahara Hotnights bring a harder sound than their countrymen have been greatly exaggerated, the band brings a comparably bratty attitude, albeit one that has had a good share of its rough edges polished off. This approach occasionally leaves the Hotnights sounding more Pat Benatar than punk, with slick production undermining in-your-face middle-fingers like "Alright Alright (Here's My Fist, Where's the Fight)," but can't hide the rock band songwriting chops beneath.

Indeed, Jennie Bomb appears to be yet another shoe-in for radio rock airplay, with standard euphoric big-chorus format, chord progressions from the familiar-but-ear-pleasing school, shouty vocals (perfect for at-home replication) from all four band members. "With or Without Control", the obvious heavy-rotation candidate of the bunch, even features the old pop song trick (last-chorus key-change) employed to exhaustion by the boy band throngs, but sounding pretty refreshing in this context.

Now, I'll be upfront about this: despite my groundbreaking Sweden time-capsule theory, Sahara Hotnights occasionally seem to be aware that the 90s happened, bringing to mind Sleater-Kinney influence when they're on ("Fall Into Line", "Down and Out") and Veruca Salt infection when they're not ("Only the Fakes Survive"). And naturally, Andersson doesn't possess the riveting vocal talents of a Corin Tucker, so when the hooks aren't sharp enough the Hotnights can't fall back on raw sass like those white-tie-wearing motherfuckers. Jennie Bomb has also lost something in the translation from import release to domestic Jetset product: "A Perfect Mess" and "Are You Happy Now?," two excellent songs mysteriously missing from the new reasonably-priced domestic version.

All the same, it's about time a group brought some feminine influence to this garage revival game, as Meg White's learn-as-you-go drumming didn't provide nearly enough estrogen. And it's even more gratifying to see it coming from Sweden, the women of which having long been unfortunately associated in the American cortex with the beer-company cheesecake bikini team. Sahara Hotnights might not be the best all-girl rock act in the business, or the best export from their wintry homeland, but they certainly don't do anything to damage the hipness quotient of the yellow-and-blue.

-Rob Mitchum, October 7th, 2002